


For a Reasonable Fee

by abstractconcept



Series: Harry in Dresses [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Boys in Lipstick, Chan, Consent Issues, Crossdressing, Filth, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Pretty Boys in Lace, Teacher-Student Relationship, dirtybadwrong, lapsitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 01:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10294379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: Harry discovers a longing to dress like a little girl, and is in turn discovered.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was really surprised I never posted this here, since I think it's one of my more well-crafted ficlets, even if it is filthy. :) I can't believe I wrote this almost ten years ago.  
> Warnings: Chan, obviously, crossdressing as well. Kinda dub-con and very filthy. Oh, I had such fun writing this. I’m going to hell, I just know it.  
> Author Notes: For the santas_lap chanfest, AU bits from third year.

“Harry?”  
  
Harry jumped a little, shutting his book with a bit too much force. “Y—yes, sir?”  
  
Remus smiled kindly. He was so nice—always so nice—and Harry felt a twinge of uneasy guilt that he hadn’t been paying attention to the lesson. “Could you stay after class a few minutes?”  
  
Harry swallowed, shifting in his seat and looking away. “Yes, professor,” he said agreeably.  
  
Professor Lupin continued to smile that same, rather tired smile.  
  
Harry sighed and picked up his quill and tried to concentrate.  
  


OoOoOoOoO

  
  
“You were very absorbed in your book,” the professor commented once they were alone.  
  
Harry started. “I was reading ahead just a little,” he lied. “Skimming. Didn’t really pick up much of anything.”  
  
Remus’ eyes drifted from Harry’s face down to his defence text. He held out a hand. “May I see it?” he asked pleasantly.  
  
Harry’s mouth went dry. “I—I’d rather you didn’t,” he stammered.  
  
Professor Lupin nodded. “I know, Harry. A lot of boys bring magazines to class,” he added gently.  
  
Harry looked down at the book in his hands; it was a bit dog-eared and he held it clenched tightly, feeling the smooth cover begin to get slick as his palms sweated. “I can’t,” he blurted.  
  
Remus reached out and, gently but firmly, worked the book free from Harry’s hand. He opened it, and of course it fell right open to the magazine that had been jammed in the middle. “Hmm,” the man remarked softly as he licked a thumb and turned a glossy page. “This is a Muggle magazine, isn’t it?”  
  
Harry slouched in his seat, wishing he could go straight through into the floor. His face was flaming with embarrassment. “Yeah,” he choked. “Girls,” he added in a mumble.  
  
The professor was beginning to look a bit puzzled. “I don’t see any girls,” he said. “It’s actually very common for boys to have magazines of girls in class, but this one seems to be mostly clothing. Muggle clothing.”  
  
“Yes,” Harry said, feeling exasperated. He let out a shaky breath. “Muggle clothing for girls. Girls wear these types of clothes.” He rested his head in his hands, trying to block out the pretty little outfits, the bows and ribbons and lace. “Please give it back.”  
  
Remus set the magazine aside. “It means a lot to you.”  
  
Harry slumped. “I can’t even explain it to you,” he snapped. “I just—yeah, it does. I like to look at it when things get crazy around here. When things get crazy around me. Things are always crazy around me. I like to look at it when I get in an argument or hear a rumour about Voldemort or learn that an escaped convict wants to kill me. It takes my mind off things.”  
  
Remus raised his eyebrows. “Does it?”  
  
Harry looked out the window, silent for a long moment as he groped inside for the right words. “I like to look at the girls too; they’re always smiling, like the only thing they have to do in the whole world is dress up in pretty pink stockings. I like to look at them because they don’t stare back, not like the kids at school sometimes.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Remus’ patient silence was worse than a thousand bitter insults from Snape. Harry sighed. “I don’t know. They don’t have to do anything. They just have to be pretty. No one expects them to save the world,” he whispered. “Someone is watching out for those pretty girls. They get to be all—all delicate and lovely and soft, and—and it isn’t fair, that’s all.”  
  
Professor Lupin sat beside Harry and squeezed his shoulder, a more intimate gesture than Harry’d ever known the man to make. “No, it certainly isn’t fair.” He looked down at the magazine in his hand. “This page you have it opened to—it seems a bit more dog-eared than the rest of them. Is this your favourite? There isn’t any girl in this one; just the outfit.”  
  
Harry shrugged, looking at his hands. “I like that one best,” he mumbled.  
  
“Do you?” Remus asked.  
  
“It looks the softest,” Harry explained, his own voice softening. “Please don’t tell anybody.”  
  
Remus smiled. “Don’t worry, Harry. I’m very good at keeping secrets. Perhaps an arrangement could be made.”  
  
Harry looked at him suspiciously. “What kind of arrangement?”  
  
“If you need a place to read, just come to my office. Er, do let me know beforehand though, if you’d be so kind.”  
  
Harry felt light-headed with relief. He’d always been terrified Ron or one of his other dorm mates would discover his reading materials. “Really?” he asked weakly.  
  
“Certainly. You could even keep your magazines here, if you were so inclined.” Remus gave him another warm smile, and Harry’s heart flipped over.  
  
“ _Thank you_ , sir,” he said vehemently. “That would be really great. Could I—come this weekend?”  
  
“Absolutely. You can even tell your friends that I’ve given you a detention, if you need an excuse,” Professor Lupin said generously, and Harry felt a warm rush of gratitude.  
  
Harry opened and shut his mouth, speechless. “I—this is—I don’t know what to say,” he mumbled. “Just—thanks, professor. Thanks so much!”  
  
Remus tousled Harry’s hair and led him to the door. “Think nothing of it,” the man told him.  
  


OoOoOoOoO

  
  
Harry was wandering around, listless, on Halloween. After Filch chased him away from the library, he found himself walking down a corridor when a voice from inside one of the rooms said, “Harry?”  
  
Harry doubled back to see who had spoken and met Professor Lupin, looking around his office door.  
  
“What are you doing?” said Lupin, though in a very different voice from Filch. “Where are Ron and Hermione?”  
  
“Hogsmeade,” said Harry, in a would-be casual voice.  
  
“Ah,” said Lupin. He considered Harry for a moment. “Why don’t you come in? I’ve taken delivery of a grindylow for our next lesson.”  
  
“A what?” said Harry.  
  
He found himself following Lupin into his office, getting a look at the strange creature in a tank of water, chatting about Dementors. It had been bothering him that Lupin hadn’t let him face the boggart, and when he finally got up the courage to ask about it, the professor quickly set his mind at ease.  
  
“I would have thought that was obvious, Harry,” he said, sounding surprised.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Well, said Lupin, frowning slightly, “I assumed that if the boggart faced you, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort.”  
  
Harry had not expected that at all. “I didn’t think of Voldemort. I—I remembered those Dementors.”  
  
“I see,” said Lupin thoughtfully. “Well, well . . . I’m impressed.” He smiled slightly at the look of surprise on Harry’s face. “That suggests that what you fear most of all is—fear. Very wise, Harry.”  
  
Harry blushed a little, looking at his hands. “Could I—read one of my magazines?” he asked shyly, and Professor Lupin’s smile grew.  
  
“Of course,” he said, reaching into his desk drawer. “I have a new one as well, if you would like.”  
  
Harry blinked a little in surprise. Professor Lupin barely knew him—why would he buy him gifts? But then—it was only a magazine, and not even a new issue, at that. Perhaps he’d just picked it up somewhere and thought Harry would like it. Harry flipped through the pages, licking his fingers while Lupin’s eyes licked over him. Each bit of shiny charmeuse silk made Harry’s palms sweat, and each little filigreed bit of trim caused his heart to drum a little faster. “Thank you, professor,” he whispered.  
  
“You’re very welcome,” Lupin replied with a disarming smile.  
  
Harry pored over the pictures, looking them over intently, while the professor leaned back in his chair, sipping his butterbeer and still wearing that odd little enigmatic smile—and watched Harry intently.  
  
After a while, Snape came in and interrupted to give Lupin a steaming goblet of something. Harry tried to warn him off, but the man didn’t seem to notice. As Harry was leaving, Lupin remarked, “Oh, and Harry?”  
  
“Yes, sir?” Harry said.  
  
“Next Hogsmeade day, you can come straight here,” the man told him. “I promise I’ll cheer you up.”  
  
Harry smiled brightly. “I’d like that, professor.”  
  
Remus’ smile widened in a languid, almost wolfish way, and Harry turned away, feeling a strange flutter inside and the back of his neck prickling. He wondered what the cause of the curious excitement was.  
  
It almost felt like when he was reading one of his magazines.  
  


OoOoOoOoO

  
  
Harry walked up to Remus’ office door, feeling suddenly timid. Wasn’t it demanding an awful lot to make the man drop everything and entertain him for an hour or two just because he wasn’t allowed to go into Hogsmeade? But no, the professor had asked him to come. Maybe he was lonely, too. That thought helped Harry to steel himself, and he rapped his knuckles against the wood. “Sir? I’ve come to visit with you,” he said.  
  
“Come in,” the professor replied. Perhaps it was the thickness of the door, but the man’s voice seemed like a purr—or a growl. Deep and rumbly, and it did funny, lovely things to Harry’s stomach.  
  
Harry licked his lips a little and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. “Good afternoon, professor,” he said politely.  
  
Remus was sitting behind his desk, half in shadow, a bunch of papers stacked neatly on one corner. He smiled a little, but didn’t look up. “I’ve been expecting you for a while now,” he said mildly, making a mark on a piece of paper and setting it atop the stack.  
  
“Oh. I’m sorry if I’m late,” Harry said. He was unaccountably nervous, and his voice came out soft—too soft, breathy and insubstantial, like a delicate spider web.  
  
Remus glanced up with a smile. “No, you’re fine,” he said pleasantly. “We’ve plenty of time. I’m sorry if I seem overeager,” he added, his face pensive. “Sometimes you have to deny yourself pleasure, and waiting makes it all the sweeter, but it is difficult to wait, isn’t it?”  
  
Harry nodded, unsure of what the man was talking about. “I suppose so,” he said uncertainly, moving forward to stand in front of the Lupin’s desk.  
  
Lupin just looked at him for a long moment, smiling so widely that Harry couldn’t help but smile back a little, though his mood just a scant few minutes earlier had been foul. “I’ve a surprise for you,” the man said in a low, happy voice.  
  
“A surprise?” Harry echoed. “For me?” He was already surprised, and the man hadn’t given him anything yet.  
  
Remus stood and turned, going over to a trunk in one corner. He tapped the lock with his wand and reached inside, straightening with a flourish.  
  
Harry stared. It was his _dream_. It was _wonderful_. “Oh, sir,” he breathed.  
  
Professor Lupin looked extremely self-satisfied, bringing the dress over to Harry. “It should be just your size. Do you like it?”  
  
Like it? It was a delicate, dreamy confection of a dress, pink and white and shimmering. It was all over lace, gauzy and beautiful. There were stockings and ribbons and pretty bows, shiny little shoes, and tiny lace knickers. Harry could feel himself trembling all over. He hastily wiped his eyes hard with the back of his hand. “It’s—oh, it’s just—how did you _ever?_ ” he rasped.  
  
The professor’s smile softened a little, melting away that sharp, hungry edge for a moment. “Here, let’s put it on,” he suggested.  
  
Harry nearly ran forward, shaking so hard he could hardly help the man as the professor undid his tie, unbuttoned his shirt and lifted it over his head, undressing him. Harry nearly fell over putting the panties on, but Remus didn’t laugh. Harry was only sorry they were so small—his prick seemed far oversized for them, but there was nothing for it. The stockings were heaven as the cool silk slipped up his legs, and the graceful little shoes were a touch of perfection.  
  
Harry’s breath came in funny little gasps as Professor Lupin did up the small pearl buttons in the back, then calmly and gently fixed the graceful little bows in Harry’s hair. Then the man stepped back and smiled. “Give us a spin,” he urged.  
  
Harry felt himself glowing pink, but he managed a clumsy little twirl. “Is it—do I look all right?” he fretted. The tension was unbearable. If he’d gone to all this trouble—if he’d been given a chance to live his fantasy, only to find he was far too ugly . . . his breath hitched a little, his throat closing up.  
  
Remus had been staring at him, but another slow, soft smile stole across his face. “You look lovely,” he whispered. “Like an absolute angel. Would you like to see?”  
  
Harry bit his lip, then nodded hard.  
  
Professor Lupin turned and waved his wand. “Accio mirror!” he called, and an ornate, full-length mirror skidded across the floor and came to a stop in front of them.  
  
It had to be as powerful as the Mirror of Erised, Harry thought, to make him look so stunningly pretty. He stepped forward, as though pulled by an invisible string, staring at the unfamiliar beauty in the mirror. Fingers trembling, he reached up and touched his image, hand pressing against hand. “Oh, my God,” he murmured. The sweet little bows made his messy hair seem charming instead of scruffy. His stockings held him in the most intimate way, obscuring his knobby knees. The ruffled hem of his skirt kissed his thighs just below his buttocks, making his legs seem long and coltish, and between the flaring of the skirt and the ribbon that circled his waist, he seemed to have cute, kicky curves, his bum pert, his neck long—oh, _everything_ was perfect.  
  
“Hmm. I think it needs something,” Professor Lupin remarked thoughtfully.  
  
Harry turned to him, confused. What could the outfit possibly need? It was better than Harry deserved. Then the man pulled a small tube from his robes. “What’s that?”  
  
“Come here,” the professor said softly, and Harry went to him obediently. The man removed the cap from the tube, then pressed it to Harry’s lips, gliding it smoothly along. He smiled at his handiwork. “There,” he said. “Absolute perfection.”  
  
Harry turned to the mirror again, his lips now pink and glossy. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to lick them—they looked delicious. He smiled tentatively, and the lovely creature in the mirror smiled back.  
  
“What do you think, Harry?” Remus asked softly. “Do you like my present?”  
  
Harry whirled, eyes wide. How could he have forgotten to thank the man? Words failing him, he threw his arms around the man, who caught him easily. Remus’ hand ghosted over Harry’s hair, petting him gently, his other arm circling Harry’s waist. “Does it feel good?” he whispered.  
  
Harry nodded against Remus’ shoulder. He felt more than good. He felt incredible—he felt like gossamer, like beauty personified, like a living, breathing spell—like _magic_. Harry’s entire body felt flushed, overheated, tingling with excitement. It felt like when he’d read his magazines late at night, picturing the lace against his body, snug and soft, as he swelled to hardness and hastily rolled his hips against the mattress until he found relief—only this was a thousand times better. This was _real._  
  
To his embarrassment, Harry realized that his cock was beginning to throb, swelling in the tight confines of the fragile panties. He was already hard and probably a little bit wet with precome as well. Feeling ashamed, Harry pushed Professor Lupin away, holding his skirt away from his body a little ways.  
  
“What’s the matter?” the man asked.  
  
Flushing, Harry could only shake his head.  
  
The professor got down on one knee, giving Harry his kind, understanding sort of smile. “You’re a little overexcited about your new dress?” he guessed softly.  
  
Harry bit his lip, nodding once and feeling awful. Professor Lupin had done something nice for him, and Harry’d had to go and pervert it.  
  
“That’s all right, Harry,” the man soothed. “It’s perfectly natural, when you feel attractive and excited, to become aroused. You don’t have to keep holding your dress out. I don’t mind if there’s a bit of a bulge.” He reached out, touching the fabric of Harry’s dress so softly Harry didn’t even feel it.  
  
Harry ducked his head. “I don’t want to dirty my pretty skirt,” he confessed.  
  
Remus smiled. “I can easily clean it,” he said, his voice coming out in a near croon. “And there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re not the only one who’s feeling a little—er, warm,” he said apologetically.  
  
Harry’s eyes widened. “Really? You’re—” he swallowed the rest of the sentence, sure he’d only make the man angry.  
  
But Professor Lupin didn’t seem upset at all. He smiled rather wryly. “You are _very_ pretty, Harry. Even if I wasn’t worried about the embarrassment, I could never let you wear these clothes outside of my rooms. You’d call every red-blooded male to you in moments.”  
  
Harry glanced down at himself uncertainly. He hadn’t considered that aspect of it. “Oh,” he said. He let the skirt go and frowned at the bump beneath the lace.  
  
“I could buy you more outfits like this one,” Remus offered.  
  
Harry looked up, stunned. “Would you? But . . .”  
  
“A little bit of lace never hurt anyone. I could procure it for you and allow you to wear it in the privacy of my office or classroom after hours.”  
  
“You would do that?” Harry asked, his heart beginning to thump loudly. He’d never thought—never _really_ thought about doing it. “I couldn’t do that. Someone could see me. And besides, I can’t make you buy me things like _that_.”  
  
Laughing, Remus reached out and ruffled Harry’s hair. “I have ways of making certain I’m not disturbed,” he said. “As for the rest of it, you have an inheritance, don’t you?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Well, you could pay me to buy the outfits.”  
  
“Why would you do this for me?”  
  
Remus looked away. “I’ll charge a reasonable fee for my services,” he suggested.  
  
“That sounds okay,” Harry said, scuffing a foot on the floor. He noticed that his erection wasn’t going away; if anything it was worse than it had been earlier. He wondered what he could—or should—do about it. He desperately needed to wank, but he wouldn’t dream of doing it in front of Lupin, and he couldn’t very well ask the man to leave.  
  
“Are you feeling a little uncomfortable?” Lupin asked him shrewdly.  
  
Harry’s face heated up once more; he wished the man wasn’t quite so perceptive. “It’s just—all the lace—it feels so good,” he explained lamely.  
  
The man’s eyes gleamed. “I could help you,” he offered quietly.  
  
Harry swallowed.  
  
“Remember, little girls don’t have to do things for themselves,” Lupin added. “They have big, strong men to take care of them.”  
  
Lupin didn’t seem particularly big or strong, but he was certainly more so than Harry, and Harry thrilled at the idea of letting the man make him feel good. “All right,” he whispered, his mouth dry.  
  
Professor Lupin smiled hungrily. He went back to his desk, motioning Harry to follow. “Come sit on my lap,” he urged. Harry went forward, allowing himself to be picked up daintily and sat on the man’s lap. Remus _was_ hard, and Harry couldn’t help but squirm a little. Remus’ hand closed over Harry’s hip, pinning him close. “Please, don’t do that,” the man said, hoarse almost-desperation colouring his voice. He swallowed several times and Harry looked up to see that they were still in front of the mirror, framed perfectly.  
  
Remus’ hand drifted down Harry’s leg, stroking the satiny glaze of Harry’s stockings. Harry’s breath caught and he tried not to move, tried not to think as the man petted him softly, tenderly. He pressed warm lips to Harry’s temple, whispering how pretty Harry was.  
  
Harry’s eyes drifted shut, but Professor Lupin jolted him a little. “Now, now; I’ve bought you a very pretty dress and it isn’t any fun if you don’t see it,” he scolded gently, turning Harry’s chin back towards the mirror.  
  
Harry let out a shaky breath as Remus drew a warm line down the middle of his throat. “Oh, professor,” Harry groaned.  
  
He saw Remus smile over his shoulder. The man skimmed both hands over his slender chest, feeling for Harry’s nipples, picking at them beneath the lace, plucking at them again and again like the strings of a guitar, causing Harry to buck and writhe, making musical little groans. The lace ceased to feel soft against his sore, hard little nipples, rubbing scratchily against their overheated redness. Harry could see them through the pretty mesh, pointy and swollen. He threw his head back against Remus’ collarbone, aching and unable to articulate just what he wanted.  
  
Remus was growling in Harry’s ear, funny little noises that came without words, just hunger turned straight to sound. He reached up under Harry’s skirt, flipping it up to reveal Harry’s prick, trapped against his stomach by the tight lacy briefs.  
  
The man began to caress him, rubbing his thumb over the head of Harry’s needy cock, and Harry bit back a cry. Oh, he couldn’t afford for one of the other teachers to come in now. He could see himself in the mirror, a bit wild-looking now, his face red and his mouth open wide.  
  
“Does that feel nice, Harry?” Remus murmured. “Do you want more?”  
  
“Yes, yes, yes,” Harry gasped.  
  
Remus chuckled, a pleasant rumbling that burrowed itself into Harry’s body. He kissed the side of Harry’s open mouth. “Good boy,” he whispered.  
  
He stopped fondling Harry, and Harry whimpered with disappointment.  
  
“Shhh,” Professor Lupin instructed. “I’m going to make you feel so much better than this ever could.” Harry could hear him fumbling in his desk drawer, could see his arm reaching behind them. Harry’s prick was exposed, reflected in the mirror, stiff and pink and dripping just a little tiny bit onto the pink lace. He gave a great shudder of pleasure and nearly came just from seeing himself like that.  
  
Remus tisked. “You’re very impatient, aren’t you? Just like a Gryffindor.” Harry smiled, and the man hoisted him up, peeling his panties down to expose his bum.  
  
Harry looked over his shoulder, nervous, but Professor Lupin gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ve got magic, so I promise it won’t hurt a bit,” the man said. “You’ll feel wonderful, simply wonderful.” He leaned Harry forward, Harry’s fringe getting in his eyes, and began to rub Harry’s backside, his fingers moving ever closer to Harry’s arsehole.  
  
“Um,” Harry rasped, feeling alarmed.  
  
Remus slipped a hand under Harry’s body, rubbing a delicious line from the tip of Harry’s prick all the way back. By that point, Harry’s body was a riot of need, and it no longer seemed important if Remus wanted to touch him in dirty and unconventional places.  
  
Remus eased a slick, warm finger into his body and Harry tensed, sure the stretch would come with pain, but there was none. Instead he felt nothing but heat, heat thrumming in his veins, heat singing in his chest, heat throbbing in his prick. Harry mewled, pushing himself back, not daring to touch himself in any way but going absolutely mad from lack of friction.  
  
Professor Lupin let out a breath that he seemed to have been holding. “What did I say? No pain, right?”  
  
Harry whimpered and nodded.  
  
“Does that feel good?”  
  
“Yes, oh yes,” he said, wiggling his hips.  
  
Remus tenderly worked another finger into him, cautious and gentle, counterpoint to Harry’s frantic moans and movements. Finally the man lifted him, light as a feather, and Harry realized he was being set upon the man’s cock. When had Remus taken it out? Harry hadn’t even gotten to see it.  
  
God, it was so hot, dripping with whatever Remus had pulled out of the drawer, and Harry couldn’t believe how big it was—it seemed to go on forever, his body sliding ever so slowly down. Finally he was completely impaled, feeling dizzy and shocked. It must be magic; like a dove coming out of a sleeve or a rabbit coming out of a hat—how could it fit otherwise?  
  
Then the professor began to move, began to thrust, and Harry had no further energy for reflection. His entire being was focussed on that heat sliding into his very core, that delicious sensation of being filled. He could see himself in the mirror, now looking very flushed, one arm up, trying to hold on, hand clasped round the back of Remus’ neck.  
  
Remus looked amazing—there weren’t even words to describe the desire in his eyes. They were bright and dark at the same time, glazed and yet sharp, raking Harry’s slim, quivering frame again and again. Harry couldn’t see much of the man except his eyes and his sweaty, rather tousled hair, because he himself was covering most of the man.  
  
Harry could barely stand it; he shut his eyes tightly, grinding his teeth even while Remus ground him down onto his swollen cock. Harry pressed both hands to his face, trying to muffle the desperate noises he couldn’t seem to prevent from falling from his mouth.  
  
“No,” Remus growled, yanking Harry’s hands away, pinning his wrists together and holding them there, in front of him. “Look,” he grunted.  
  
Harry looked. Harry’s legs were spread wide—he looked so unbelievably dirty, his pretty shoes dangling as Remus thrust into him, his prick now bobbing free of his knickers. Remus clutched his hips, slamming him down. Harry’s hands were folded together as if in supplication, a sweaty knot held tightly together by Remus’ much stronger fist.  
  
Remus bowed him down further, Harry’s body arching, his arse now in the air and being plundered relentlessly. He felt a shock up his spine, and as Professor Lupin made a particularly brutal plunge, he let go of Harry’s hands to grab his shoulders, and Harry fell forward, his hands on the floor.  
  
He made an effort to look up at the mirror again; they looked like _animals_ , like wild creatures without a higher consciousness, all instinct and savagery and _now, fuck, now!_  
  
Harry felt his balls tighten and managed to work one quaking hand free to lift his dress—to pin it to his body so he would not dirty it. Bent nearly double, the come splashed his face. He sucked in a wobbly breath and met Remus’ eyes in the mirror, saw them widen as the man took in the pearly drips coating Harry’s nose and chin. “S—sir,” he croaked, trying to wipe away the mess—after everything he’d done to make Harry pretty!  
  
Inside Harry’s body, there was a splash of unexpected heat, and he felt himself go rigid in surprise.  
  
“Oh, _Harry,_ ” Remus groaned, stilling. After a moment he lifted the boy up, letting his drowsy head fall back against his chest. He tucked Harry’s head under his chin, straightening his still-clean skirt.  
  
“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, feeling tired and very spent.  
  
“For what?” Remus asked, sounding surprised.  
  
Harry wrinkled his nose, gesturing to his face. “It’s not very pretty anymore,” he explained.  
  
Remus smiled kindly. “I think you’re perfectly lovely,” he said.  
  
Harry blushed, trying to hide his face.  
  
Professor Lupin sighed contentedly. “You know, I saw the most darling little maid’s outfit in one of your magazines,” he said. “What do you say? Should I send off for it? Or have your adventures in women’s clothing come to an end? I know I’ve demanded a lot of you in return,” he added softly.  
  
Harry looked up at the man and smiled. Feeling daring and sexy, he craned his neck to kiss the professor on the lips, hard and hot, and sticky with come. When he broke away, Professor Lupin’s eyes were dark and bright all over again. Harry grinned. “I think the price is reasonable enough,” Harry told him.  
  
Remus smiled as well. “I’m glad you’re willing to pay.”


End file.
